Bitch Better Have My Money
by ScribblinDaydreamer
Summary: Mass Hetalia mafia/organized crime AU. Will contain multiple arcs, you may request characters/make suggestions. Starting with the Italian Trio vs North American Brothers. ships still to come. *cough*romerica*cough*
1. Brothers

Though the Italy brothers are of similar height and look very much alike, you can easily tell them apart by their countenance. Lovino 'Rome' Vargas, the eldest brother, wears a permanent look of displeasure, often breaking into a smirk, but almost never a smile. Though he yelled, cussed, threatened, and got into heated arguments constantly, he is most frightening when he becomes cold and quiet. Those who have the misfortune to truly see his cold anger would take his silence as defeat, and turn their back to leave, only to hear a distinct metallic click and feel an instant of terror before travelling through a haze of agonizing pain and into hospital.

Feliciano 'Venice' Vargas, the second eldest brother, never failed to annoy Lovino, although the two are on good terms. Feliciano is cheerful, adventurous, and loves to play. Often called 'Mr Felici' due to his happy nature, although happy can turn to trigger-happy very fast. Feliciano's smile doesn't ever disappear - it only has varying degrees of brightness. He loves to play innocent, although sometimes it's difficult to tell if that's what he's doing, or he is in fact, an idiot.

The youngest brother, Romeo Vargas, is hardly involved in his brothers' activities, and lives a luxurious life in the town of Seborga near the French border of Italy, and attends a highly prestigious private school. Although still young, he is a charmer of women, and often called the 'Prince of Seborga.' Some joke about Romeo having 'too many Juliets,' but of course the naturally charismatic boy isn't intentionally stringing anyone along... probably.

Feliciano and Lovino have massive influence and several important, ahem, business partners, wrapped around their little fingers. Of those partners, a few of the most important being the elite German spies, Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt, Spanish weapons cartel boss Antonio Carriedo, Belgian drug lord Bella Maes - and subsequently her brother Abel, a Dutch trader with a booming business. Of course, they also had their fair shares of enemies, acquaintances, and allies. And their newest enemies, two Northern Americans named Matthew Williams and Alfred F. Jones, certainly have an interesting track record.

The two are bounty hunters, and work for whoever pays the most money. The half-brothers possess a wide variety of skills, and are masters of acting and disguise; going from being wild shotgunners one moment and sophisticated businessmen the next. They land in Europe under the guise of being tourists, and immediately go to collect their gear, shipped overseas by their contact in the Kingsman Secret Service, Sir Arthur Kirkland.

"Ahh, rainy in England, as usual," Alfred remarks with a wide smile, opening up an umbrella and holding it above Matthew and his own heads. They're travelling light, with only backpacks filled with necessities, until they can get a car.

"Has it ever not been?" Matthew murmurs, consulting a map. "Let's get our stuff, pay Arthur, and start making our way to sunny Italy, eh?"

"Aight," Alfred agrees, flagging down a taxi. The taxi driver tries to make small talk as he drives them towards their destination, but quickly regrets his attempt at conversation when Alfred begins blathering in his loud, American accent about everything and anything, while Matthew smiles politely and offers the driver an apologetic look.

The taxi drops them off at the harbor where the rain is but a drizzle, and pulls away, disappearing down the road. They duck into a small cafe, wiping droplets of rain off their glasses, and approaching the solitary staff member behind the coffee counter.

"Slow day, eh?" Matthew greets the young woman.

"Yep," she replies without interest.

"We're here to see your boss," Matthew continues.

"He's not in," she replies automatically.

"We're his friends, and-" Matthew is cut off as Alfred shoves his way in front of his brother with a bright, all-American smile.

"That asshole is upstairs drinking tea in that nice little office you have up there," Alfred says, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Y'know, the one with the abstract paintings and that hideous green chaise lounge. Yeah, we know he's in and he has our stuff, so hand over the key already."

The woman pauses briefly, and without a change in her neutral expression, reaches under the counter and retrieves a key card, and hands it over.

Alfred takes it triumphantly, marching off towards the 'STAFF ONLY' door, while Matthew thanks the woman and hurries after him. They march up a wooden spiral staircase and Alfred busts open the heavy office door with a loud, "WHAT'S UP, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Arthur flinches at the sudden loud noise and intrusion, tea spilling from his cup onto his black leather gloves.

"Fucking hell," he swears, lowering the teacup onto his desk and removing his gloves. He remains seated as he glares intimidatingly at Alfred. "Always such a pleasure to receive your greetings, Alfred."

"Hi, it's been a while," Matthew smiles, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hello, Matthew," Arthur nods at him. "Your things are in the suitcases over there. I have the keys to a grey Mercedes you can borrow for your... trip." He holds up a set of silver and black car keys. "It's in the parking lot."

"Thanks, bro," Alfred grins, reaching for the keys.

The Englishman jerks them back, out of his reach. "It's only polite for you to give me my money first."

Alfred rolls his eyes, but produces several wads of cash from his backpack and places them on the desk. Arthur smiles, and slides the keys across to Alfred.

"Alrighty, let's go!" Alfred cheers with enthusiasm, effortlessly lifting the majority of the suitcases into his arms. "Come on, Mattie!"

Matthew retrieves the remaining two suitcases and carries them away. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Have fun, boys," Arthur waves at them, returning to his tea.

Meanwhile, in a certain undisclosed location near Milan, Lovino Vargas is meeting up with his French informant, Francis Bonnefoy. The two have a strained, unpleasant relationship, so Bella's boyfriend, a Swiss mercenary named Vash, is there to mediate.

"I'm afraid to inform you that someone, or perhaps more than one someone, appears to be targeting your brother," Francis says, drawing out the sentence between sips of wine.

"Who is?" Lovino asks in a controlled voice, quelling the urge to crush the stem of the wineglass between his fingers.

"Well," Francis begins, pausing again. "They're foreigners, with no connection to me... but apparently very good friend's of Arthur's, and you know I'm all about anything that will make that man choke on his tea."

"Who are they?" Lovino reiterates, glancing at Vash standing stone-faced, rifle in hand.

Francis smiles, sliding two photographs across the table. "They're bounty hunters from North America. Half-brothers. The one with the longer hair is Matthew Williams. The other is Alfred Jones. They look alike, don't they?"

Lovino gazes down, studying the pictures with hostile hazel eyes. "I don't care. Why are they after Feli?"

"Oh my," Francis places a hand on his cheek, feigning surprise. "I did not say they are after Feliciano."

Lovino stiffens, looking up to stare at Francis with sudden realization. His eyes narrow, his irises taking on a dangerous amber tint. "Why the fuck are they after Romeo?! Who hired them!? Tell me now, or God help me, I will strangle you with your own necktie, you bastard!"

"You really want to know, don't you? Perhaps now is a good time to negotiate the price of my information, hm?"

Lovino stands up and throws his glass of wine at Francis, but the Frenchman moves, and the glass shatters against the wall, dark red splattering and staining the surface.

Vash immediately draws his rifle. "Calm yourself, Vargas!"

Lovino forces himself to sit back down, his clenched fists shaking and his glare murderous. Francis smirks.

"And you!" Vash commands, pointing his rifle at Francis. "Wipe that smile off your face! Don't provoke him!"

Francis raises his hands in surrender, and having had his fun, gets down to business. "I don't know who hired them, or where they got the intel on Romeo, but they are landing in England as we speak, and they have quite an arsenal with them. They're experienced, Lovino. You should act quickly."

Lovino is already on the phone, speed dialing Feliciano.

"Feli," he says with urgency, "Get on your jet and head for Seborga now. Bring a security team with you, I'll meet you there. Romeo's in danger."


	2. Wherefore art thou not Romeo?

Romeo Vargas, the 'Prince of Seborga,' better known as Romeo Mortelli, to remove any obvious connections to the Vargas family in his comfortable civilian life, is well liked and very popular among his neighbors and fellow students. He loves to relax and enjoy life, and never seems worried or anxious about anything. Sure, it doesn't quite make sense for a high school student to live in a mansion without his family, but hey, there are servants to keep the place going!

Romeo is laid out in a hammock, catching sunlight and sleep, dreaming about making a trip to Monaco during school break, when the double doors to the central courtyard slam open and a butler runs frantically towards the startled boy.  
"Master, your brothers are here!" the butler announces. "They say it is urgent!"

Romeo leaps to his feet and runs toward the front entrance, where several cars with black-tinted, bulletproof windows are parked in the wide gravel driveway.

"Fratelli?" Romeo asks, puzzled as his brothers emerge from the vehicles and hurriedly make their way inside. "What's going on?"

"Close the doors," Lovino orders the servants, removing his sunglasses. "Make sure no one saw us come in."

"Sorry Romeo," Feliciano apologizes. "We're going to have to take you somewhere else for a while. There's some trouble we need to sort out, then you can come back here, okay?"  
Romeo's cheerful face turns concerned. "Where are we going? How long is a while?"

"Don't worry, don't worry," Feliciano waves a hand, smiling dismissively. "Lovi will take care of everything, si? It won't be long."  
Lovino paces to and fro in the spacious foyer, his leather shoes clicking on the marble tiles. "I'll bring you to one of the strongholds in Sicily. For now, pack your things and tell everyone you know that you've gone to… Liechtenstein for a few weeks to… visit your sick grandfather. We leave immediately. Feliciano will stay behind to make sure the mansion is properly closed."

Romeo frowns, taking in the sudden change of plans. "Am I in danger, Lovi?"

Lovino snaps his fingers impatiently. "Now, Romeo! Go get your things. Move!"

Romeo obediently sprints up the stairs without another word.

Feliciano is already rounding up the servants, giving orders and reassuring them with paid leave until the time of Romeo's return. Lovino continues to pace back and forth in agitation, plans whirling through his head. If the bounty hunters heed the rumor of Romeo travelling to Liechtenstein -which, isn't very likely- they would have to travel through either Swiss or German borders, where they had contacts that could possibly cut them off. Much more likely, the hunters would see through the lie and realize they had been informed of their approach. Lovino bit down on a fingernail, tapping his foot. He needs a way to destroy the threat before it gets too close. The thought of anyone hurting Romeo makes his blood boil with the thirst for violent retaliation.

After crossing the English Channel by ship to France, Matthew and Alfred take off in their borrowed car, the trunk and compartments stuffed full of their favorite goodies. A pump-action shotgun lies underneath the driver's seat. Arthur had been considerate enough to loan them a right-hand traffic car, which the brothers found familiar and settled into with ease. They take turns driving through the country, with Matthew doing the talking since Alfred doesn't speak French. They play childish games of I Spy and 20 Questions to pass the hours, stopping only to refuel and eat.

"I spy with my little eye…" Alfred pauses, looking out the windows at the sparsely populated countryside, "something beginning with… A."  
Matthew keeps a loose grip on the steering wheel with one hand and glances around. "It's you, isn't it, Al."  
"Dang it!" Alfred exclaims, slapping the dashboard.  
Matthew laughs. "Narcissist."

"Well there ain't shit out here, Mattie, it's a fucken' dirt road in the middle of the country!" his brother complains. "Let's be real, you and I are the most interesting things out here in ButtFuck NoWhere."

"Every mission has its boring parts," Matthew reminds him patiently.  
Alfred pouts. "I hate waiting."  
"Yet it's half the job," Matthew muses. "But it's worth it, eh?"

"Hell fucken' yeah," Alfred agrees. He slides on a pair of aviator sunglasses and reclines his chair. "Wake me up when we get to a gas station with snacks."  
They make good time, arriving in sleepy Seborga in the small hours of the night, parking their nondescript car a safe distance from their mission site, and travel the last bit of distance on foot, loosening their muscles and moving with stealth.

They find the mansion drenched in darkness, silent and still. Matthew slows down to listen for a moment, but Alfred presses on, flipping his night-vision goggles down and silently scaling the wall. Matthew follows close behind, wanting to warn Alfred against being reckless, but keeps his mouth closed for fear of being detected.  
Together, they heave open one of the rooftop skylights, and drop quietly into a room on the third floor. They take a minute to orientate themselves, the floor plan of the mansion already imprinted onto their minds.  
Matthew stops for a moment, signalling to Alfred.  
His brother makes a 'what is it?' gesture.  
Matthew points to the sheet-covered furniture, then to the dining room where the chairs are neatly stacked in a corner. They sneak by the dining table, and Matthew leans down close.  
"No dust," he whispers, almost inaudibly. "Maybe they pack up this way at the end of every day?"  
Alfred shrugs, thinks for a moment, then says, "Check the fridge."  
"Good idea," Matthew nods. The dining room is connected to the kitchen, which is found in a similar state of cleanliness. Matthew gingerly opens the fridge to find it empty, and dark. "The electricity's off. They're gone."

"Fuck!" Alfred swears under his breath. "Who the hell tipped them off?"

"No idea," Matthew mutters. "If everyone's gone, we should search the place for clues to where the boy went."  
Alfred sighs, his excitement fading. "Yeah. A place like this should have a backup generator, though. If we power it up for a short time, it's likely no one will notice. We keep the lights off, but get into their computers, or any digital device that holds records. I can see security cameras."  
"Good idea, let's find the monitor room," Matthew suggests.

Alfred flicks on a torch, but holds it low, pointed to the ground. He grins at Matthew. "You remember playing Amnesia back in the day? Big, spooky mansion?"  
"Shut up and lead the way," Matthew replies, a chill running down his spine.

It takes them a good twenty minutes of checking dark, deserted rooms to come across a small office with a multitude of screens. To their surprise, a body lies slumped over the desk, a quiet snoring echoing into the hallway.  
Alfred backs up and mouths "What the fuck?" in surprise.  
Matthew holds a finger to his lips, points to the sleeping form and makes a circular motion next to his head with his finger.

Alfred looks again, and Matthew is right, the sleeper definitely has the same hair curl as the boy in the photographs they had been provided by their employer. He smiles, not believing their luck, and quietly removes a syringe from his pocket, sneaking up on the unsuspecting Italian. He plunges the syringe into the target's neck, injecting a powerful tranquilizer, putting the young man back to sleep as soon as he jerks awake.  
Matthew enters, surveying the room. "What's he doing asleep in here?" He notices the screen in from of the unconscious Italian is slightly larger than the others, and has a different frame. "It's a computer… he must have been removing records or evidence. There might be some left that could be useful if we power up the generator and take a look."  
"Why bother?" Alfred asks, slinging his victim over his shoulder. "We already got him, we gotta leave ASAP, bro. You know how it goes. Cover our tracks and get the hell outta here."

"I guess," Matthew agrees reluctantly. They make their way out the same way they came in, Matthew leading with the flashlight and Alfred carrying their prize. They close the skylight they left open and rappel down the side of the roof, fleeing the mansion grounds and heading for the car. Day would break in a few hours and they wanted to be far away from here, besides, the trank would wear off soon.

-The next day-  
Alfred and Matthew sit in their car, eating lunch under the bright sun of the Mediterranean coast of France, the warmth and lost sleep from the previous night making their eyelids heavy.  
"How is that guy still sleeping?" Alfred mutters, half-turning his head towards the bound Italian in the backseat.  
"Dunno," Matthew leans around his seat. "Hey. Heyyy. Wake up."  
"Nah, you gotta do it like this," Alfred smiles, grabbing a bottle of water and dumping it on their sleeping captive. "RISE AND SHINE, PRINCESS!"

The young man sputtered awake, his gold eyes reeling around in shock. "Dove siamo? Lovi?"  
"Hey there, sleepyhead," Alfred beams his wide, American smile. "You speak English?"

"Y-yes… hey, why am I tied up?"

Matthew tries to explain, easing Alfred back with a gentle push. "Here's the thing, Romeo-"  
"My name's not Romeo," the Italian says, understanding coming into his tawny eyes. "You got the wrong person."  
"WHAT!?" Alfred yells, whipping out his phone, looking at the pictures of their target, then back at the person in their backseat. There is a subtle difference. "Oh shit…"  
"I'm Feliciano," their guest smiles. "Feliciano Vargas. My brother Lovino is going to kill you."  
"Oh fuck," Matthew whispers.  
"AH FUCK!" Alfred shouts.


	3. Capture the Flag

Feliciano tries to escape the vehicle, frantically trying the car doors to discover them locked. He hurls himself out of the rear windshield, causing his kidnappers to cry out in surprise at the shower of broken glass. They jump out of the car in pursuit, but the Italian runs faster than humanly possible, taking off down the shore, startling beachgoers and snatching a phone from a surprised tourist.

"Go that way!" Alfred shouts to Matthew. "Cut him off! Don't let him get away!"

Feliciano continues to barrel down the beach at full speed, emergency dialling his closest confidant, Ludwig.  
"GERMANY!" he screams down the phone as soon as his friend picks up. "HELP ME!"  
"What is it?" Ludwig replies, his voice panicked.  
"I've been kidnapped! I think I'm in France! We're on the beach!" Feliciano gasps, sprinting for the treeline, hoping to lose his pursuers. "They're two Americans, they're both blond and wear glasses, Lovi probably knows more than me! Lud-"  
The phone flies out of his hand as Matthew leaps out from behind a tree and tackles him to the ground. "Cuff him, Al!"  
Feliciano wriggles pathetically as Matthew pins him down and Alfred slaps a pair of steel handcuffs onto his wrists. They pull him into a standing position and start shoving him back in the direction of their car.

"Sorry to get you involved, bud," Alfred apologizes with zero sincerity. "But we don't have much of a choice. Gotta pay the bills somehow, right?"

Feliciano, having caught his breath, straightens up and smiles. "Good for you! The Don will either pay you far more than your employer in exchange for me, or he'll make you pay triple in flesh. I think it's kind of 50/50 with him. I hope I didn't annoy him too much at the last family dinner."

"Awesome!" Alfred cheers. Aside, he whispers to Matthew, "What's a Don?"  
"Like the old guy in _The Godfather_ ," Matthew replies. "The mafia boss."

Feliciano already has a swing in his walk and his smile is growing wider.

Matthew watches him with suspicion. "Who did you call on the phone?"

Feliciano doesn't answer, excited to see his best friend Ludwig, who would surely arrive soon.

"Yeah, we've zeroed in on his location, we're heading there now."  
Lovino breathes a silent sigh of relief, then returns his attention to the phone at his ear. "Thanks, Gil. You and your brother send word as soon as you've got him safe, okay?"  
"We'll do that and better. Tschüss, Roma," Gilbert hangs up. He looks over at his brother, who is waiting by the motorcycles, both of them dressed in matching black riding gear and toting several customized weapons. Ludwig meets Gil's crimson eyes and nods. They mount their bikes and simultaneously take off towards Feliciano's location, identities hidden behind sleek helmets.

The sun is dipping towards the horizon by the time they reach the location displayed on their monitors from the nano-tracker implanted in one of Feliciano's teeth. The signal from the tracker takes them through wide fields of sparsely occupied French farmlands to a large barn at a pig farm, where a nearby slaughterhouse breathes the scent of blood and death into the air.

"Ugh," Gilbert wrinkles his nose upon removing his helmet and replacing it with a gas mask. "Gross."  
They quietly dismount their vehicles, heavy boots shushing on long grass as they stalk their way across a wheatfield, keeping low to the ground. Ludwig approaches the barn, making sure to stay on the east side so he wouldn't cast a shadow in the dying light of day. He puts his eye against a slit in the wooden boards and scopes out the situation.

Feliciano is sitting on the ground, leaning against the wheel of a grey Mercedes parked hastily inside the barn. His hands are still cuffed behind him and he seems to be falling asleep. Like usual. The Canadian, Matthew, is sitting on the hood of the car, typing away on a laptop with intense concentration. His brother Alfred is on the phone with someone named Arthur, murmuring under his voice, swearing and pacing back and forth, kicking up dirt and hay.  
Ludwig backs away, returning to where Gilbert is waiting for him behind a tree.

"I'll get Feliciano," he whispers, pulling on his gas mask. "You cover me, slow them down when they try to follow us."  
"Roger that," comes a muffled reply from underneath Gilbert's mask. "I'll break down the door, you take the windows on the other side."  
They nod at each other. Gilbert moves first, scurrying across bare dirt and crouching by the door. He signals for Ludwig to move. He counts up to five, then slams his shoulder against the wooden door, breaking it free from it's bolt with a loud splintering.  
The Americans are startled, discarding their devices and drawing their weapons. Alfred fires off a few shots at Gilbert, while Matthew tries to move Feliciano, who is giggling and adamantly resisting. Gilbert dives behind a rusted tractor in a corner of the barn. He hears the window break and ducks his head.  
A flash bang sails in through the window and explodes upon impact, filling the barn with smoke and making everyone's ears ring. Gilbert moves out to assist his brother, running into the smoke and picking up Feliciano. They dart out of the barn, ducking and zigzagging at the sound of gunfire.  
Gilbert glances over to check on Ludwig and sees he is… also carrying Feliciano? Through the chaos of smoke and bullets, Gil notices the struggling Canadian flung over his shoulder.  
"Holy fuck!" he yells, flipping Matthew onto the ground.  
"Hurry up!" Ludwig yells, already waiting on his motorcycle with Feliciano in his lap.

Matthew fires a shot at Gilbert, hitting him square in the chestplate of his bulletproof vest and knocking him down. As the Canadian approaches to check if he's dead, he kicks himself into a standing position and smoothly pistol-whips Matthew over the head, knocking him unconscious. Gil slings Matthew back over his shoulder and runs for his motorcycle, just as Alfred emerges from the barn, coughing and teary-eyed.  
"MATTIE!" the American shouts.

Gil switches his gas mask for his motorcycle helmet and takes off with Ludwig, Matthew draped over his front like a backpack worn the wrong way. Only a few moments pass before a loud crash and the thunderous growl of an old engine begins following them.  
Gil glances into his rearview mirror to see Alfred in the tractor from the barn, barrelling down the hillside, the huge wheels unaffected by the bumpy terrain. The American leans out the window, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand holding a handgun.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK," Gilbert yells, signalling to his brother to haul ass.  
" _I did not understand that_ ," the AI system embedded in his helmet chants calmly. " _Please repeat_."

"Call Roma!" Gil shouts, both him and Ludwig driving in a zigzag formation to dodge the oncoming bullets from a furious American.  
" _Calling Lovino Vargas… please wait..._ "

Ludwig raises a hand and motions left and right, telling Gilbert they should split up. Gil nods and holds a thumbs-up in response. Feliciano is their first priority, after all. The American would definitely follow Gil instead of Ludwig.

Ludwig swerves off to the left, cutting through grass fields, heading North towards a freeway, as Gilbert continues down the dusty country road.  
"Speak," Lovino picks up.  
"We got him," Gil gasps into his microphone. "Ludwig has him, he's safe. I caught the Canadian brother, the American is after me right now, but I'll lose him. There's evidence left behind at the site, you should send a cleanup crew immediately."  
"Excellent," Lovino responds, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Good work. Don't die."

Another gunshot and Gil feels his back wheel tremble. "Solid rubber tyres were a good idea."

"Call me when you're in the clear," Lovino orders, hanging up.

" _Call ended_."

Night is falling fast and Gilbert sees the lights of a nearby town come on. "Oh yes."

A bullet blasts through the left side of his helmet, and there's a loud static crackle before the digital system dies into silence. Obnoxious laughter can be heard from his pursuer.  
"Fuck you, that was expensive as hell!" Gilbert flips him the bird. "Not cool!"

An almost inaudible hollow metallic click followed by much more audible swearing tells Gil the American has run out of ammo. At the same time, he spots a narrow bike trail threading through a forest of trees, probably leading towards town.  
"Hah!" Gilbert laughs, plunging into the thicket of evergreens, leaving the tractor screeching to a stop and remaining helplessly on the road. As he enters town, he heads directly for the freeway, rejoining Ludwig and heading towards the Italian border.


	4. Renegade

Fortunately, Matthew also happens to have a tracking device, hidden in plain sight. The heartbeat monitor on his wrist gives the time of day in his time zone, his heart rate and galvanic skin response, as well as an emergency distress call button, which he uses as soon as he gains consciousness and finds himself in an unfamiliar hotel room.

"Where's my brother?" he demands, clicking rapidly on the device with his hands bound behind his back. "Where's Al?"  
The albino man sleeping on the bed half-wakes with a muttered grumble. "I lost him back in France. He ruined my helmet."  
Matthew glances around, but the hotel room has no defining features, and the curtains are drawn, obscuring the outside world. He surveys his situation quickly. His captor appears to be unarmed, although appearances can be deceptive, and there are numerous firearms within reach.

"Is it just the two of us?" Matthew asks quietly, staying still and making himself small.

"Nah, Lud and Feliciano are in the next room."  
Matthew struggles to loosen his bonds, with no success. "You guys aren't Italian."

"No, we're not," the German answers, sitting up with a sigh and leaving sleep behind. "But we work for them. You can call me Gil. You wanna tell me what you guys were doing going after the little Vargas?"

Matthew stubbornly keeps his mouth shut.

Gil shrugs. "Whatever. The boss will get it out of you."  
Matthew glares. "My brother is coming to get me."

Gil smirks, his red eyes glinting with amusement. "That's what we're hoping for."

Matthew shudders and returns to being silent.

Gil stretches, and peeks out of the curtains. "Alright, Matthew, is it? What do you want for breakfast? It's on me."  
"What, why?" Matthew wonders. He sure doesn't treat his hostages with as much kindness.  
"I'm handing you over to the Don after all," Gil explains, dialling room service. "I feel bad for you, even being in my line of work. What do you want? It can be anything."  
Matthew feels a trickle of fear run down his spine, but hides his uneasiness with bravado. "Pancakes with maple syrup. Alfred will be here soon, and he likes waffles and bacon, so you should order that too."

Gil chuckles and humoring his guest, makes both orders as well as breakfast for himself, Ludwig, and Feliciano. He unties Matthew and places him in handcuffs instead, making it possible for him to eat. The food arrives in 20 minutes, and Matthew takes Alfred's food and guards it possessively while eating his own pancakes. Ludwig and Feliciano join them in Gil's room, Feliciano humming contentedly at his food, while his stern-faced companion keeps a close eye on Matthew. They exchange idle chit chat for a while, before Ludwig starts getting prepared.

"Is it about time yet?" he asks, testing a stun gun and placing it in his pocket.

Gil checks a tablet-like device and nods, also getting armed. "I'd say about five to ten minutes. Feliciano, go down to the basement and join the others. We'll take care of the American."  
Matthew's eyes widen. "Don't you dare-"  
"Hurt your brother when he comes busting through the window, guns out?" Gil finishes for him. "Sorry, but that's a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

Matthew grits his teeth, but says nothing.

"The monitor on your wrist was pretty obvious. We fiddled with it while you were knocked out." Gil pulls the curtains open in a swift movement, letting in the morning sunlight. "Lud, you take position here, I'll take the door just in case." He jerks the cuffed Canadian to his feet, putting him in a headlock and moving him. "Gotta keep this guy out of sight. Lud, if he notices you, I'll direct his attention to Matthew."

They wait out the long minutes in tense silence. Before long, the faint sound of rappelling can be heard just above the window, interrupted a second later by the shattering of glass and an angry Alfred breaking into the room, a gun in each hand. He catches sight of Gilbert holding Matthew with a Luger pointed at the Canadian's chin. Alfred pales, freezing up, and opens his mouth to say his brother's name, only to have Ludwig deliver a high-voltage shock to his ribs.

Both American brothers cry out as Alfred goes tumbling down, his body seizing. Ludwig disarms and cuffs Alfred, and along with Gil, drag the bounty hunters to the elevator and use their assigned keycard passes to access the basement level. Matthew stares in bewilderment as the bellboy in the elevator goes on minding his own business, hardly sparing a glance for them.

"Don't look so surprised," Gil says. "The Don owns everything and everyone here in this hotel."

Alfred and Matthew soon find themselves secured to chairs in a dimly lit, sparsely yet expensively furnished basement.

Alfred groans in pain, slowly gaining control back over his body. "Fuuuuck."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Matthew agrees. The two are comforted by each other's presence, and despite their dangerous situation, fall into a dryly humorous conversation.

"Well this is a shitty situation," Alfred grumbles. "Did they say the Don is here? Mr. Boss Guy wants to speak to us personally? I'm so honored."

"Dunno," Matthew replies. "I haven't seen him yet. I know Feliciano Vargas is somewhere down here though. Think we're gonna die?"  
"Ha," Alfred laughs without amusement. "I hope not. I wanna be able to tell the story of when I looked the big bad wolf of Italy in the eye and told him to go fuck himself."  
Matthew rolls his eyes. "Please tell me you aren't going to say that, you'll definitely get us killed."

"Should I ask him what the thought of the Godfather movies?" Alfred half-grins.  
"I'll be asking the questions, actually," a voice announces.  
Both brothers turn their head to witness the entrance of a handsome young italian man in a sleek black fitted suit with a bold red shirt underneath. He bears a strong resemblance to Feliciano and Romeo, although his hair is a rich brown and his skin has a darker, olive complexion.

"Jesus, how many of you are there?" Alfred mocks. "I thought we were gonna talk to the Don."  
"I am the Don," the italian man corrects him, his tongue sharp. He smirks at their surprise. "Don Lovino Vargas of Italy. A pleasure to meet you."

Alfred stares long and hard at Lovino, before turning to Matthew. "I thought you said he was going to be old, like that guy in the Godfather." Matthew shrugs helplessly.

"Let's skip the introductions for now, as I already know who you are," Lovino suggests in a calm, collected voice, although his eyes burn with fury. He approaches a large redwood desk positioned against a wall, and removes a knife from one of the drawers. He holds it up and inspects the edge. "So let's start with who your employer is. I know you're not going to answer just because I ask nicely." He closes the drawer and turns his attention back to the brothers.  
Matthew gulps nervously, and Alfred twitches in his seat, trying hard to keep up a brave front.

"Well that's a real nice suit you got there," Alfred remarks. "It would be a shame to ruin it with blood. Not that you don't look great in red."

"I can always buy another," Lovino answers with visible irritability. "I'll give you ten minutes to answer my question. Who is your employer?" He points the knife at Alfred.

Alfred looks at the blade under his nose, then back at Lovino. "I have a pretty high pain tolerance. It might take more than ten minutes."

Lovino smiles. It is a hard smile, angry, merciless, and terrifying. "Unfortunately, that is not how this works." He takes the knife and hovers it above Matthew's left hand, which spasms automatically, sensing danger. "For every minute you fail to answer the question, I will cut off one of his fingers. If that doesn't work out, we'll switch to you."

Alfred turns bone white, then red with rage. "YOU TOUCH MY BROTHER AND I WILL FUCK YOU UP, YOU HEAR ME DAMN IT-"  
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FUCKING BASTARD," Lovino shouts back even louder, silencing the American. He glares at him with savage anger, the knife trembling slightly in his hand. "So what gives you the right to hurt my brother, huh? How does it feel now? Not so pleasant is it, hunter?" He picks up Matthew's pinky finger and the Canadian shrinks into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut.

"It was the Russians!" Alfred yells, struggling against his restraints.

"Could you be more specific?" Lovino asks, pressing Matthew's finger onto the arm of the chair.

"Belarussian rebel militia! They work for the Russians!"

"Is that so?" Lovino nods, lining his knife up with the base of Matthew's finger. "Very interesting."

"We don't know what they want, we're just doing our job!"  
"Sorry," Lovino apologizes sardonically. "Sixty seconds is up." He raises the knife.  
"ARLOVSKAYA," Alfred practically screams. "NATALYA ARLOVSKAYA! THAT'S WHO YOU WANT!"

"Grazie," Lovino withdraws the knife, tossing it aside. "See? That's all I needed, was that so hard? I wasn't really going to cut him. I'm not some sadistic psycho. I'm just protective of my family, as I'm sure you understand."

Alfred blinks at the sudden change in the Italian's tone, while Matthew uncurls himself, daring to breathe again. Lovino is speaking casually, the crazy in his eyes diffused by reason, and Alfred can't help but imagine him as just an ordinary young adult, maybe attending university somewhere, just talking to them over a cup of coffee.

"I heard you two are on good terms with Arthur Kirkland," Lovino continues, beginning to free Matthew from his chair. "Are you friends with him?"  
"Er, friends is quite a stretch," Alfred replies, still shocked by the shift in atmosphere. "Business partners, yes. We do each other favors, but friends, is ah… hmm…"

"My informant hates him," Lovino frowns slightly at the thought of Francis. "So does my weapon supplier, Antonio. Says Kirkland destroyed a whole bunch of his smuggling ships. You know anything about that?"

"Uh, no?" Matthew answers, rubbing his wrists when Lovino finishes undoing the restraints and moves on to Alfred. "Are you, uh, not going to kill us?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Lovino rolls his eyes. "Quite the opposite. I'd actually like to hire you."

"Are you serious?!" Alfred demands incredulously.

"How much was Arlovskaya offering to pay you?" the Italian asks. "I'll pay you double. You have an impressive record. It would be a nice change to work with people close to my age. My business partners tend to underestimate me, and sometimes even try to steal from me. Now _there's_ a good reason to kill someone."

"You… really want to hire us?" Matthew stares in disbelief.  
Lovino nods, finishing up with Alfred. "Just keep in mind that while I'm not a sadistic psycho, I have many good friends who are, and if you cross me, I might just hand you over to one of them and let them flatten your dicks out with a hammer and anvil."

Both brothers shudder at the idea, standing up and stretching their limbs, destressing themselves from the tense experience.

Matthew thinks for a moment, trying to comprehend the events of this morning. "So the German guy, Gil, telling me you were so bad that he felt sorry for me, was that just to scare us?"

"He actually believes that," Lovino explains. "I went off at his brother Ludwig once, now they both have a healthy respect for me."

"What did he do?" Alfred questions, following Lovino as he leads them out of the basement.  
The Italian makes a face of intense displeasure. "He made a move on Feliciano."


	5. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

A/N: let the shipping begin haha beach episode

"Hey Al," Matthew whispers, awed by Lovino's generous gesture of assigning them a luxury suite in his hotel. "Where exactly are we?"  
"Savona, Italy," Alfred replies, falling down onto a huge bed. "Hella cool beachside town. Mattie, this is gonna be AWESOME."  
Matthew sighs with an exasperated smile. "Well something tells me we're going to be heading north to go hunting for a certain Belarussian woman soon. Better enjoy this while it lasts."

"Yeah, but we're gonna make mad stacks," Alfred grins up at the ceiling. "Maybe he'll even keep us around or hire us again. A mafia Don! Mattie, we're gonna be rich!"

Matthew can't help but grin, sharing his brother's excitement. "Oh, and where's our stuff and Arthur's car?"

"Parked about a mile from here, with all our gear," Alfred answers. "Hopefully Lovino will let us keep all our stuff. Now as for Arthur's car…"  
"We should give it back," Matthew finishes.  
Alfred pouts. "Boring. These guys here don't seem to like him much, so do ya think we can earn brownie points by pissing him off?"

"Al," Matthew says in a warning tone.  
"Fiiiine," Alfred sighs. "We'll give it back, but it can wait until we're finished up with our new job." He springs to his feet with renewed vigor, striking a stance and pointing outside. "For now, let's hit the beach!"

Matthew blinks at him. "We don't have any swimwear."

Alfred pauses, still enthusiastically pointing. "Oh. Right."

"Well, we have to get the car and our stuff anyway, so on the way there, we can pick up anything we need," Matthew suggests.

Alfred agrees, and the two brothers head into town. A while later, they return to the hotel in the Mercedes, with their gear and two pairs of swim trunks. Alfred has also taken the liberty to buy a beach ball, an inner tube, a parasol, a dinosaur-style hooded towel, several water guns, and a mountain of candy bars and snacks. Needless to say, the others caught on to where they were going.

"You're going to the beach?" Feliciano grins in delight. "Oh, oh, can we go too? Please, Luddy?"  
Ludwig and Gilbert both look at Lovino, who shrugs and murmurs something rude about the blond German.

"Bring Romeo too," Lovino says. "Gil, I'm assigning you to keep a close eye on him."

"Aw, c'mon, why can't Lud do it?" Gilbert whines childishly. "You know how easily I burn."

Lovino narrows his eyes. "I don't trust him with _either_ of my brothers," he states pointedly.

Ludwig turns slightly red, but Feliciano doesn't care, linking arms with the German and already heading for the door.

Gil rolls his eyes, but knows better than to disobey orders.  
"It's okay," Matthew smiles. "I can help him out. I've done much harder things than supervise a teenager."  
Lovino glances at him in surprise. "Thank you… Romeo's pretty well behaved, but he tends to wander off like a child sometimes. Keep him in your sights, and also, make sure Gil's snow white ass doesn't burn to a crisp."

With that, the odd entourage of three Italian brothers, two German brothers, and two American half-brothers make their way to the beach. Ludwig travels further down the shore to the dog beach with his German Shepherds and Feliciano, who is on a quest to pat every single dog. The others stay on the regular beaches. It is a week day with not too many people, but still enough to keep the area lively.

Gilbert stays resolutely beneath his parasol in shorts and a black tank top, not willing to risk exposure by entering the water. Matthew takes pity on him and sits with him, making sandcastles and collecting seashells, moving together every now and then as Romeo wanders further down the beach.

Alfred is all about getting in the water and having violent fun, but Lovino prefers to relax and tan on the beach, either taking naps or reading novels. After a while of splashing around on his own, Alfred returns to lure Lovino out into the water.

"Don't tell me you can't swim?" Alfred teases, his blue eyes sparkling like the surface of the sea.

"Of course I can swim," Lovino replies, adjusting his designer sunglasses. "I just prefer to relax."

"You're too young to act like such an old man, Lovi," the American laughs.

"And you're too old to have a fucking dinosaur towel, asshole," Lovino returns. "And don't call me Lovi. Only Feli and Romeo can call me that."

"Whatcha gonna do about it, Lovi?" Alfred taunts, dropping his inner tube and parading around in just his dinosaur towel and American flag-printed board shorts. A pair of floaties would complete the picture perfectly.

"Fight me," Lovino mutters, half-heartedly throwing his battered paperback at the American.

Alfred grins and pulls out a water gun from their beach bag and shoots Lovino square in the chest.  
"Oh no you fucking don't!" Lovino yells, jumping up and grabbing another water pistol, following Alfred into the water as the American cackles gleefully.

Lovino proves to be very skilful with a gun, even more so than Alfred, and soon the blond's hair is soaked in water from the continuous headshots. Alfred is much bigger than Lovino, and built like an All-American farmboy with wide shoulders and sculpted muscles, whereas Lovino is lean and slender, catering to the tastes of high Italian fashion.

"Splash fight!" Alfred yells, delivering a wave of water that soaks the shorter Italian.

"I'll drown you, bastard!" Lovino yells, leaping at Alfred and knocking him into the water. For a second he almost considers holding him down until the bubbles stop, but instead steps back and lets the American live.

Alfred breaks the surface of the water, shaking his head like a dog. They continue to fight, Alfred having the upper hand in strength and Lovino having the upper hand in agility. Eventually, they stumble back to shore, collapsing on the sand, breathless and laughing. It feels so strange to both of them to be doing something so… normal.

"So tell me," Alfred starts, gazing into the sky above where seagulls circle overhead. "How'd you get to be a mafia don so young? You're like, what, twenty?"

"Twenty- _three_ ," Lovino corrects, sounding insulted. He leans his head back onto the sand. "I inherited the business from my grandfather. He raised Feliciano and I to be part of the family. Romeo clearly wanted a more simple life, one he couldn't maintain if he lived with us. So we gave him new papers and sent him to Seborga."

"What about your parents?" Alfred asks.

"Assassinated," Lovino answers with clenched teeth. "Grandfather had to come out of retirement for a few years until I turned eighteen. We then worked together to exact our revenge. Decimated and wiped out the rival family responsible. Only ones left alive after were the family pets."

Alfred shudders despite the warm sunlight. "That's brutal."

"I made it my mission to erase them from history," Lovino practically spits. "If someone so much as speaks their name, they're going home without a tongue. Are you the older brother?"

"Yeah, Mattie's younger than me but only by a couple years."

Lovino nods. "And you understand how important family is, yes? Now imagine all your closest allies as your younger brothers. They're your responsibility, your people. Doesn't matter how much older or more experienced they are, it is up to you to protect them. Get it?"

"Family first," Alfred murmurs. "Protect them, even if they don't like it."

"Exactly." Lovino sighs. "Most of the family prefers Feliciano on an everyday basis, but when it comes to battle or crisis, they all look to me. ...How did you get into your line of business?"

Alfred laughs. "It was so natural, we practically grew into it. Mattie and I were military brats as kids. Mattie was gonna be navy, I was gonna be marines, but it didn't pan out. So we figured we'd play freelance superheroes and be bounty hunters. Surprisingly good money, especially since we were young and stupid and willing to take risky jobs. We lived week to week, life was never boring, and nothing ever got us down. Except that one time Mattie was driving and he ran over a squirrel. He was crying, we had a crackhead duct taped to the backseat, it was a crazy weekend."

Lovino laughs, a sonorous, pleasant sound that is rarely heard. Alfred finds himself tuning out the sound of waves and chatter to listen to his new friend.

"What am I supposed to address you as?" Alfred wonders aloud.

Lovino thinks for a second. "My _caporegime_ call me ' _Roma_ ,' the capital and heart of Italy. Sentimental and stupid, but it has a nice ring to it."

"Roma it is then," Alfred agrees with a smile.


End file.
